on my way inside I pass a furry bee busy by the screen door she is beautiful in sunlight I say Take care of things out here while I'm gone!
cc: Chagall 2021
Tag Archive: life
Where do the young go, do they frolic in a new field warmed by an old sun, or in aged meadows lit by now? Everything dies, sheds skins, to give way to the moment Once swayed by the song, the length of the body in dance presses on, listens for the rhythm, hums along until the tempos change And watch as if outside-in, themselves a third party, a single heart here... From the rise that emerges there in the lowlands, amid the mist and the faces, an outstretched hand, a single smile, a breath, a curl, a lash, a cool smooth cheek The incredible sensation, the surround of loving arms, the perfect nestle of neck in neck, a race to all that is good was once good I know now that blue continues long after the eyes are gone cc: Chagall 2021
A pinball plunger is pulled
torque builds tension, drives a blue planet hurtling
Yet to achieve status quo
but already we are dying
What a sad lot
done but barely begun
Expansion wraps
central stars implode
planets light up
critical mass
the multiverse shifts
orbits combine
new suns enjoy
15 minutes of fame
We are domino
tip us watch the long ripple
beget life everywhere
a taper to kindle
We are seeds
oh, how testy we are
Chagall 2015/2018
I smell so good after turning beds
of arugula by hand.
Chagall 2017
I started to write a poem then shifted
to write a song
Chagall 2017
The bird on the holly bush
Low to the ground singing
to elders in alder branches
From your vantage, do you see hope?
Show me then, where to fly
Pray, please guide me
Chagall 2017
i return to my device and the word application asks
want to save? implying my previous work unsaved,
i reply Yes for i trust my earlier self enough
to have made some excellent changes
Chagall 2017
I sometimes forget
who I am
supposed to be
until a prized wind
raises the scent of rain
off of mossy rock to me
©∞Chagall 2017
Please know that every cherita I will ever write
will be inspired by Celestine @ Reading Pleasure
Alas, so very few of my cheritae will ever be as good as hers. 🙂
Love & Peace —CC
What is there
after you’ve flown?
Where are you
once you touched down?
Careful there on the ledge,
perhaps you’ll not fly again.
How sad to have flown
for the last time.
When up is down
to fall is to fly.
How joyous to have
flown at all.
I’d have thought
clouds to be harder.
I invert when I fly
for I am the sky.
So inwardly
I fall.
Alight on soft pockets
of air.
Dust
on air.
I pray while
I fall.
The whole planet
is falling.
We spin and we turn and
we tilt and we yaw.
The earth rushes to us
once befallen.
© Chagall ∞
Every year around this time witnesses the return of
the cicada killer wasps: their sole purpose in life is
to fight, even to die, in the war against cicada.
They land their bodies on my hot pavers, the straight-away
between the porches is a landing field for sassy doughboys,
chewing gum, sun in their eyes, alive another day.
I get out the hose and assist them in training, parrying
with sprinkler and jet and soaker settings, preparing them for
aerial bug-fight, cicadas are fierce opponents
with an innate understanding of prime numbers.
I had a huge party this weekend and I gathered the cicada killer wasps
around and I told them it was the front of the house for the rest of the day
and they listened. That night while packing up the tent and the chairs
they came back and settled into their usual spot. The leader,
oddly one of the youngest, came over and said, “You miss everybody,
i can tell,” hovered a moment and then flew off to the shade of the boxwoods.
© Chagall ∞
Alphabet City 